In the early morning, before sunrise, Pablo stood alone in the backyard of the new headquarters.
The sky was still gray. The air was cold. No one could see him.
He took out the small pistol he had bought from Rein. A black, shiny flintlock, with a dark wooden grip, a short but sturdy barrel.
The pistol was not completely foreign to him.
In his previous world, in his old land, he had used guns before. He was not a professional, but he knew how to hold them, how to aim, how to pull the trigger without his hand trembling.
But the guns of this world were different.
Heavier. Their firing chanism was slightly slower. Reloading them took more ti.
But the principle was the sa.
He raised the pistol with both hands. He aid at an imaginary target.
He pulled the trigger.
The sound of the shot was loud in the empty yard.
He reloaded. Aid again.
He fired.
He repeated this many tis. He was training his body to rember. To get used to the new weight, to the different recoil, to the difference in accuracy.
He did not need to beco a sniper. He only needed to be ready if the mont ca.
After an hour, he stopped training.
He looked at the pistol. It was still warm from the shots.
He placed it inside his clothes and went back into the headquarters.
---
On the upper floor of the headquarters, Pablo had arranged the best room for himself.
It was the largest of all the rooms. Its windows overlooked the forest on one side, and the back path leading to the port on the other. The view was beautiful, especially at sunset.
Its furniture was simple but good: a wide bed, a heavy wooden table, two comfortable chairs, and a large wardrobe.
On the table, his small notebook was always open. Beside it, the small pistol was placed within reach.
From the window, Pablo could see the backyard where he had trained in the morning, the dense forest behind it, and in the distant horizon, the light columns of smoke rising from the factories.
This room was not just a place to sleep. It was a command room.
From here, he managed everything.
He sat on his chair and looked out the window.
The factory was running. The gang was training. And the money was moving.
And now, it was ti for the next step.
---
Three days after his call with Rein, Surin arrived with his cart as usual.
But this ti, under the juice cans, there was a large leather bag.
Surin got down from his cart and looked around. No one was there.
"The goods are ready." He said in a low voice.
Pablo gestured to Marco. Marco stepped forward and carried the bag. He opened it slightly to check: ten new flintlock guns, and enough boxes of ammunition.
He closed it and nodded to Pablo.
Pablo took out twenty thousand Beli from his pocket and handed them to Surin.
"Your fee."
Surin took the money and put it in his pocket quickly. "If you need anything else, I am available."
"I will rember that."
Surin climbed onto his cart and left.
Marco carried the bag to the new weapons storage room in the headquarters.
Ten additional guns. Now, the gang had sixteen guns.
And the fifteen n needed more training.
---
After days of arranging, Pablo finally managed to arrange a eting with Doctor Klin.
The pretext was simple: a rich young man wanting a dical consultation for his sick father. Klin, who never treated the poor, agreed quickly when he heard the word "rich."
The place was a relatively fancy restaurant in the heart of Naraka. Warm lights, tables covered with white cloths, and a waiter wearing an elegant suit.
Pablo arrived first. He sat at a table in the corner, where he could see the door and who entered.
Marco and so gang mbers were outside the restaurant. Ready for anything.
After a few minutes, Doctor Klin entered.
A man in his fifties, his hair dyed black, wearing an expensive suit. He walked with the confidence of a man who knew his worth. Or so he thought.
He sat opposite Pablo. He looked at him with evaluating eyes.
"You are younger than I expected."
"That is not important."
Klin smiled a fake smile. "Alright. Tell about your father."
Pablo put his water glass aside.
"My father is not sick."
Klin's smile stopped.
"What?"
"My father is not sick. And I did not co for him. I ca for you."
Klin frowned. He began to feel anger or fear, he had not decided yet.
"Who are you? And what do you want?"
Pablo took out a small cloth bag from his pocket. He placed it on the table in front of Klin.
It was heavy. As soon as he placed it on the table, it was obvious that banknotes were inside.
Klin looked at the bag. His eyes glinted for a mont.
"This is... a down paynt."
"A down paynt for what?"
"I will ask you for sothing small. Very easy for soone in your position."
Klin was trying to appear calm, but his eyes could not stop looking at the bag.
"What do you want?"
"Veron. The sick owner you treat."
Klin stiffened. "I don't know who—"
"Do not lie. I know everything. I know he is the owner. I know he is an old, sick man. And I know you visit him every two weeks."
Klin was silent. His face began to lose its color slightly.
Pablo continued:
"I want you to help his health deteriorate. Naturally. Sothing no one would suspect."
"That... that is murder."
"That is dicine." Pablo said quietly. "You are a doctor. You know how to make death look natural."
Klin wanted to stand up. Wanted to be angry. Wanted to shout that this was immoral.
But he was looking at the bag.
Then Pablo put his hand under the table. He took out the small pistol. He did not raise it toward Klin. He just placed it on the table, next to the bag.
Quietly. Without direct threat.
But the ssage was clear.
The table in front of Klin held two things: a lot of money, and a single bullet.
The choice was his.
Klin was silent for a long ti. His greed fought his fear. His greed said: "Take the money. You will be paid many tis over." His fear said: "This man will kill you."
In the end, greed won. And fear won. They both won together.
"How much will you pay?"
Pablo smiled. Not a warm smile. The smile of a man who knew he had won.
"One million Beli now. And another million when he dies."
Klin breathed deeply. "Four million."
"Two million." Pablo said coldly. "Do not bargain with ."
Klin was silent. Then he took the bag and put it in his pocket quickly, as if he was afraid he would change his mind.
"I will start next week."
"I know. I will be watching."
Pablo stood up. He put the pistol inside his clothes.
"Do not make regret my trust in you, Doctor."
He left the restaurant without looking back.
Behind him, Klin remained sitting. He was trembling slightly.
Looking at the bag in his pocket. Then at his hands.
Outside, Marco was waiting for Pablo.
"Done?"
"Done. The doctor is in my pocket now."
"Will he betray us?"
"If he feels fear, he will betray. That is why you will send one of your n to watch him. We do not want surprises."
Marco nodded.
They walked together through the nightti streets of Naraka toward the headquarters.
The sky was overcast with clouds. No stars tonight.
But Pablo could see his path clearly.
The doctor had begun working.
Vlad would die soon.
Then the entire factory would be his.
Pablo opened his small notebook in the darkness. He wrote one sentence:
"The first step of the factory plan: completed."
He closed it and put it in his pocket.
He continued on his way.
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